The Glass of Ash
by HopeCoppice
Summary: Pretentious title to avoid actually naming the fairytale this is based on just yet. I like to keep people guessing. Slash. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Another prompt from redrachxo - this one has so far taken up 2 days of my life and I'm still going. Love that kind of prompt. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Here's part one.**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Young Dracula, nor the fairytale this is based on.**

Count Dracula landed with a soft _bump_ and looked around, annoyed. He was _sure_ he should have taken a left somewhere in Norway, but it seemed this was the wrong direction after all. He began to make mental calculations of where he might be; he had to get back to the school as soon as possible, before Ingrid got her claws into her brother.

A twig snapped behind him and he turned, wondering if he had time for a bite of peasant before going on his way. But it wasn't a peasant who met his gaze.  
"Count Dracula."

The vampire who stood before him was young and built like a seasoned fighter. The crest on the clasp of his cape struck fear into Dracula's unbeating heart; this, then, was Du Fortunesa, the most terrifying vampire in the world. He was the legend mothers told their children when they were getting too big for their boots – _Don't act like you're the Chosen One, or Du Fortunesa will come and turn you to dust –_ and he seemed no less impressive in reality. Now he was speaking again.  
"The Council has been looking for you." The Count winced; he'd known they couldn't hide forever but really, they'd been so close to Vlad's 18th when he could deal with all this business himself… No, it seemed that he hadn't managed to hide for his entire regency after all.

"What do they want from me?" At least he knew where he was now; he must be somewhere near the Council's headquarters. Du Fortunesa was known to dwell in a small castle in the woods in the middle of nowhere, but this was clearly not it. He must have been in the area on business.  
"The Chosen One requires training. You will send him to me and entrust him to my care until he is ready to take his rightful place." The Count raised an eyebrow; why should he give up his son and heir to this… monster?  
"And if I refuse?" Du Fortunesa smirked, as if he'd been hoping he'd ask.  
"Then I take you. A hostage, as it were. We'll see how much the Chosen One values his obsolete old father." The Count bristled.  
"Fine! Fine. Where should I send him?" He should have known better than to expect it to be that easy.  
"Oh, that's quite unnecessary. I'll return with you now and pick him up."

* * *

Vlad had listened quietly as his father explained the situation, the strange vampire standing just out of earshot by the door.  
"You told him I'd go with him? Who _is_ he?"  
"I didn't have a lot of choice. That's _Du Fortunesa_, Vladimir." Vlad swallowed nervously; he'd been told the stories as a child, of course, before they moved to Stokely.  
"…Fine. Then I'm safe, right? I _am_ the Chosen One. The visions, remember? And if I don't go, he'll call me a fraud and slay us all." The Count nodded worriedly. "Then say goodbye to Ingrid and Wolfie for me. I'll see you when I'm Grand High Vampire." He closed his eyes for a moment, then gave a decisive nod and began walking towards the menacing vampire in the shadows. "Mr Du Fortunesa? I'm just going to get my stuff." The legendary monster followed him out and Vlad realised there really had been no chance at all of getting out of this arrangement.

They landed at Du Fortunesa's castle not long before dawn; it wasn't what Vlad had expected. For one thing, it was substantially larger than rumour had led him to believe, albeit falling down a little around the edges. It was heavily fortified, but there was a strange kind of imposing beauty to it. Du Fortunesa didn't speak until they'd almost reached the front door.  
"Come in." Then he grabbed Vlad by the arm and pulled him along, down into the depths of the castle. There was a small, bare room down there, and Vlad found himself deposited matter-of-factly in it. "Get some sleep. Training begins at sunset." A key turned in the lock, and his host was gone. Vlad pulled his backpack from under his cape and dumped it on the floor, looking around miserably. The room was completely empty, but at least it didn't seem to have any chance of letting sunlight in. He spread his cape on the dusty floor before stretching out on top of it. He was doing what he had to, that was all, for his family. It wouldn't be for so very long, he was sure. After all, it was only just over a year until he turned eighteen. He could survive this long, he was sure.

It didn't seem like it was going to be fun.

* * *

The monster paced in his coffin room; he should have been sleeping, but sleep wouldn't come. He had spent years waiting for a lead on the Chosen One's whereabouts, but he'd hardly expected him to just fall into his clutches like that. Now he had a matter of hours before he had to start training the boy, which meant working out _where to start_ in the first place. He'd had to train pretenders to the title before, of course, but never in his own castle, and he was dreading the moment he'd have to sweep up the dust of this… Vladimir Dracula. But for now, he would settle for working out a training regime.

He glanced at the hourglass on top of the bookcase – the ash that had once filled the top half of it was now almost all in the bottom, more trickling down to join it as he watched. It had taken four centuries, but it seemed his time was nearly up. Still, he could deal with one more Chosen One imposter before the end.

* * *

As darkness fell, the lock clicked and Vlad scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off. Du Fortunesa pulled the door open and stood aside, waiting impatiently for Vlad to follow him upstairs.  
"Well, we may as well start on your flying. You were very wobbly last night." Vlad grimaced.  
"Nerves." His new tutor's raised eyebrow told him that wasn't a wise thing to admit to. "I mean, it… gets on my nerves, flying. Feels weird. Not natural, you know, flying rodents."  
"You're a vampire. What could be more natural?" Then he launched into a series of commands Vlad didn't feel able to disobey, putting him through his paces. By the time sunrise approached, Vlad ached in muscles he hadn't realised he had, especially when in human form, but he had to admit that he was flying more confidently. Du Fortunesa nodded his approval, then escorted him firmly back to his cell and locked him in with a couple of bottles of blood. Vlad ignored them and went to sleep.

The next night, his gaoler decided to assess his telepathy, which meant leaving him in the sparse little room with only a walkie-talkie and a set of picture cards. He was to concentrate on describing the cards to the near stranger holding him prisoner here, and Du Fortunesa would tell him what he was getting, if anything. Vlad's hopes weren't high; his father had tried to teach him telepathy once. It hadn't gone particularly well – the Count had, in fact, declared that his son clearly had no thoughts in that empty little head of his. The Chosen One grimaced at the memory and started trying to think about snakes in grass, only about snakes in grass… Yellow snakes in lush, green fields…

* * *

The monster chuckled grimly to himself. So far all that the Chosen One had managed to communicate was a vivid image of his father telling him there were no thoughts in his head to transmit. This, while amusing, was hardly a promising start. If this Chosen One turned out to be the real deal – he scoffed at himself for even entertaining the notion – they would have to practice a lot more. He sighed and waited for something else to come through.

* * *

"I'm not getting anything," the walkie-talkie snapped, "try building up a vivid mental image in your mind. You need to picture a scene you could almost stand in. Over."  
Vlad pulled a face, then winced – knowing his luck, _that_ would have transmitted perfectly – before turning back to the cards. Alright, the snakes weren't doing anything for him. He was sure Ingrid would have had something to say about that.  
"Stop thinking about girls and _concentrate_. Over." Oh, for fog's- well, it seemed he was capable of transmitting _some_ thoughts, at least. He turned over a new card and tried to remember his gaoler's advice. _A tower, with lightning hitting it. _How hard could that be? He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself standing at the base of the tower, looking up.

_Driving rain lashed at his face and whipped at his cloak, sending him lurching towards the nearest shelter as thunder roared overhead. Lightning flashed and he began to count as he ran, _one_ Transylvania, _two _Transylvania, _three- _and the thunder drowned out his thoughts again. He rushed inside and slammed the door behind him, only to find himself in his cell at Du Fortunesa's castle._

"That's more like it. Try not to get _lost_ in the next one. Over." Vlad blinked hard, returning to reality. He picked up the walkie-talkie and pressed down the transmit button.  
"That worked?" There was no response. He turned the next card over and frowned at it. A golden chalice. _The Holy Grail?_ He considered trying to project the image of King Arthur and his faithful coconut-clopping servant galloping over a hill, but he suspected his keeper wouldn't appreciate it. He didn't want to anger the most fearsome and ruthless vampire who'd ever walked the earth.

_The chalice sat on the table before him, close enough for him to reach out and pick it up. He did, tilting it towards him slightly to observe its contents. Blood. Thick, rich red blood; his eyes blackened. He was so close, he could almost taste it – but no. He didn't drink real blood, he would have to resist. Oh, but he was hungry. He would do almost anything for soy blood, in that moment, but… no! He slammed the chalice down onto the table and pushed himself away from it, but the blood had spilt, was still spilling, he could smell it everywhere and the tablecloth ran with it, a steady stream of warm, delicious blood…_

"I gave you blood; why didn't you tell me you didn't drink it?" He recoiled; when had Du Fortunesa come in? The older vampire was shouting – Vlad curled himself up in a corner of his cell, trying to present as small a target as possible while he fought to get his bearings and shake off the bloodlust. His gaoler glanced upwards, then stormed out, taking the blood he'd left with him and locking the door.

* * *

The monster didn't understand; what kind of vampire didn't drink blood? Still, it was clear from the boy's thoughts during his vision that there was some form of synthetic substitute available; he would find some before dawn. It would make teaching him far less of a struggle. On his way out he glanced at the hourglass. Judging by the amount of ash, he had less than a year left.

* * *

Just before dawn, the door slammed open again. Du Fortunesa stormed in, thrust a bottle into Vlad's hands, and watched him stare at it for a few seconds.  
"Well? Is that the right thing, or what? That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Vlad nodded, a little confused by the shouting. "Then drink. Sleep. We'll continue tomorrow." He hesitated at the door, about to lock it as usual. Then he shook his head, tucked the key into the keyhole, and walked out. Vlad, distracted by the soy blood, failed to notice this rather strange behaviour. Once he'd quenched his thirst, he lay down on his cape and went to sleep.

He woke the next night feeling considerably better, although his back was killing him. It took him a few minutes to realise that the door was slightly ajar, and when he did he wasn't sure what to make of it. He reached for the walkie-talkie in the middle of the floor and hesitated for a second.  
"Um… Mr Du Fortunesa?" There was a long pause.  
"What is it? Over." Well, that was hardly an encouraging reaction.  
"Did you know you'd left the door unlocked?"  
"Yes. That's so you can go through it." Vlad sighed; at least this meant he was allowed out. He was about to start making his way through the castle when the walkie-talkie crackled again. "Use your hunting skills to find me. And take the radio with you just in case. Over." Well, Vlad supposed, that had sounded _slightly_ less like a fervent wish that he would fall on a stake than anything else his new tutor had ever said to him.

He made his way out into the corridor, absently wondering which 'hunting skills' he was expected to be using to track down his mysterious gaoler. It would be easier to track down the main doors and make a bid for freedom, but he knew his family would be put at risk if he did that. Instead, he found his way to the entrance hall, glad he'd thought to wrap his cape around himself - some of the corridors were very draughty. He looked around briefly, then sighed and focused really, really hard.

_Could you give me a clue? I don't usually hunt vampires._ He winced, realising that Du Fortunesa certainly did, if the legends were to be believed.  
_At least your telepathy's improving. Stay where you are._ Within seconds, Du Fortunesa stood before him in all his imposing glory. Vlad shifted awkwardly as the older vampire stared at him in silence. Was he saying something telepathically that Vlad just wasn't picking up?

"Um… thanks. For the soy blood, I mean. And letting me out. Sorry about yesterday." He rubbed at his back, not really aware of making the gesture. Du Fortunesa's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment.  
"Provided you don't try to escape, I see no reason you shouldn't have a little more freedom. It may yet prove a moot point." Well, that didn't sound good.

* * *

The monster hesitated, the boy halting in his wake, outside the room where the Book was kept. His hand was almost on the handle when he made his decision.  
"Never go into this room, or the one directly opposite it. The rest of the castle… consider it yours to roam. But those two rooms are private. Understand?" Vlad nodded, and the monster led him a little further along the corridor, unsure what to do with him now he'd decided to postpone the test. "This will be your new room."

* * *

Du Fortunesa pushed the door open and Vlad peered in. It was a simple room, Spartan – just a bookcase, a wardrobe and, to Vlad's immense surprise and relief, a comfortable-looking coffin.  
"Really?" He was far too grateful for this most basic hospitality, he knew, but his back was killing him. His gaoler nodded.  
"Go and get your belongings. And meet me for dinner at midnight." A scowl crossed the older vampire's face suddenly. "We must discuss proper etiquette and correct protocol." Then he was gone, leaving Vlad to stare after him.

Vlad returned from the dungeon he'd been living in – walkie-talkie still clutched in one hand, just in case – with his backpack and began finally unpacking the assorted rubbish he'd shoved in there before he left Garside. He hadn't really been giving the task his full attention, what with the looming presence at his shoulder putting him off. Now it turned out he'd brought a load of rubbish he didn't really need, including a very old photograph of him and Ingrid, back when photos could still be taken of the pair of them.

Midnight came and went as he stared at the picture, wondering if Ingrid and his father had killed each other yet. He wondered if whoever was left missed him; if they were looking after Wolfie. He and his sister had had his ups and downs, but in the end they'd always been there for each other. Well, mostly. He'd barely been away a few days, and he missed them more than he could have thought possible. There was a bang at the door.

"Vladimir? You're late for dinner."  
"I'm not hungry." He felt bolder, somehow, thoughts of his family still fresh in his mind. He was here for their sakes, but that didn't mean he had to let himself be a prisoner. He was the Chosen One, for crying out loud, that had to mean something.  
"It wasn't a request!" The door handle turned, but Vlad simply used his telekinetic powers to shunt the heavy (albeit empty) bookcase in front of the door. Du Fortunesa let out an inhuman roar, slamming his hands against the door one last time. "Fine! We'll see how hungry you are in a few days!"

* * *

The monster raged, even as he wondered why he was so furious. He had spared the boy the Book, for now, and that was enough of a mystery to him, but why was he suddenly so determined to teach him the finer points of dining etiquette? And what possessed him to think that was a good idea, given that he'd been cast out of vampire society centuries ago? He didn't have the faintest idea how to behave around others, as he feared the boy had already realised.

After a few hours, however, the rage had drained away, leaving a high tidemark of anxiety in its place. The monster found himself outside the barricaded door again, a bottle of soy blood clutched in one hand, the other formed into a fist. He raised it, and knocked.

* * *

Vlad didn't move in response to the knock at the door.  
"There's a bottle outside, if you get thirsty." Du Fortunesa's voice was clipped, curt, but no longer as angry and terrifying as it had been earlier. Vlad waited until he thought he was probably gone, then shifted the bookcase back into its original position and stuck his arm out of the door to claim the bottle. Soy blood; not a trick, then. He perched it on an empty shelf, adding the photo of himself and Ingrid beside it, and flopped back into the new coffin to process recent events. It would be sunrise soon, and he would have wasted an entire training night. No wonder his gaoler had been angry.

He didn't really understand, though, why dinner had been such a big deal. He knew how to behave himself in polite vampire society, probably better than Du Fortunesa did, based on his experiences of the older vampire since he'd arrived here. Perhaps that was it… could he just have wanted someone to share a meal with, lonely after all these years? He shook his head, kicking himself for his foolishness. This was _Du Fortunesa_, the vampire vampires feared. He had slaughtered whole clans of his own kind. He couldn't honestly be lonely.

Still, Vlad could use some company himself. He didn't trust his jumbled thoughts, so he reached for the walkie-talkie and jammed his thumb down on the button before he could think better of it.  
"I'm sorry about earlier. Can we still have a drink?" He released the button, hearing nothing but static, then grabbed it again. "…Over?" The reply, when it came, sounded almost confused – no, suspicious. The vampire of legend would never be confused by anything.  
"…Yes, I suppose so. I'll come and get you; you don't know where the dining room is. Over."

* * *

The monster lowered the radio and unfolded himself from his coffin, making sure his appearance was flawless and as intimidating as ever before leaving to collect the boy. He didn't understand what had prompted the sudden change in attitude and he certainly didn't understand why he'd accepted it. By now, by rights, the boy should have been dust; taking into account his behaviour, he should have been dust several times over.

But he lived, and he wanted to drink with the monster. And the monster was curious enough to agree.

* * *

They sat at opposite ends of a regular-sized dining table; Vlad sipped the soy blood he'd brought with him from his new room and his captor seemed to be trying to avoid looking at him. It fell to Vlad to awkwardly break the silence.  
"Why do you always call me Vladimir?" It was a stupid question, he knew, but it was the first thing that had sprung to mind. The older vampire looked surprised.  
"It's your name. Would you prefer Dracula?" Vlad shook his head, a little thrown by the concern his new tutor was showing for his preferences all of a sudden.  
"No, but… most people call me Vlad. You could call me that." Du Fortunesa nodded.  
"Fine. Vlad." There was a slightly awkward pause. "Why do you call me 'Mr Du Fortunesa'?" It was Vlad's turn to raise an eyebrow.  
"It's _your_ name. Isn't it?" The older vampire bowed his head over his goblet.  
"It has been, for many years now. Usually, people don't add the honorific."

Vlad wasn't sure what prompted his next question. It just sort of tumbled out.  
"What's your first name?" Du Fortunesa looked up, frowning as if trying to remember something.  
"Bertrand," he said at last, his accent becoming much more distinctly French. "My name is Bertrand du Fortunesa." Vlad took a sip of soy blood for courage, then met the older man's eye and held his gaze.  
"Can I call you Bertrand?" His tutor seemed startled, then drained his goblet in one swift moment and stood.  
"Yes. You'll find your room? Good day." He was gone before Vlad could realise what had happened.

* * *

The monster stormed up to his room. How dare he? This boy, this… _Vlad_ had no right to treat him like a normal vampire, like a man rather than a monster. He had no right to come along and shake up the monster's world. That was it. Tomorrow he would work him so hard he would wish he'd never laid eyes on the monster, let alone tried to be nice to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two of this ridiculously long piece of random. Enjoy! Oh, and redrachxo: I still expect a proper review for EACH chapter :P I'm demanding like that. Hopefully you'll feel this fic is worth it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except apparently a bizarre addiction to vampirising fairytales.**

Vlad collapsed into his coffin with a sigh. After the previous day's weirdness, Du Fortunesa – _Bertrand, _he reminded himself – had made no mention of their aborted dinner and had focused instead on combat training, as well as making Vlad prove that he really could use telekinesis as well as he'd seemed to the day before. Vlad was exhausted, and he'd been promised there was more of the same to follow. Bertrand seemed determined to work him to death, and he wasn't really sure why.

Vlad was determined to make his tutor proud, and he wasn't really sure why that was either.

* * *

The monster felt a little guilty. That was a new experience; usually he veered between being a remorseless beast and being completely crippled with regret for his own actions. Still, he'd worked Vlad rather hard over the few nights since that awkward conversation about names, and the boy was probably wondering what he'd done wrong. He wracked his brain for a way to make it up to him.

Eventually, he settled on an idea. If he timed his flight right at dusk, he could just about pull it off. Thus decided, the monster settled in his shroud to sleep.

* * *

Vlad woke late, opening his eyes to find that darkness had already fallen outside. He grabbed his walkie-talkie, though his telepathy was gradually improving, and ventured out to find his tutor. He met him in the hallway, coming the other way, and by midnight he was aching from practicing a series of complicated martial arts moves. Bertrand surprised him then, handing him a bottle of soy and heading for a room Vlad had never been into.  
"I've got something for you." Vlad's mind went into overdrive, wondering what diabolical training scheme he was about to walk into the middle of, trying to figure out how Bertrand expected him to use a bottle of soy blood as a weapon. What he wasn't expecting was for Bertrand to push open the door and reveal a television and a mismatched selection of armchairs. "This room, everything in it… is yours."

"What… Why?" Vlad was stunned by the gesture; the television was clearly new and appeared to be hooked up to some kind of wind-powered generator, because the rest of the castle certainly didn't get electricity. The chairs looked like they'd been scavenged from other rooms, but it was clear he was being offered a variety of options to suit any tastes.  
"You've worked hard, you deserved something nice." Bertrand's face suddenly darkened and Vlad felt the snap coming before it did. "Is there something wrong with that?" Vlad moved as if to place his hand on Bertrand's arm, a small gesture of reassurance that only made him tense up further. He withdrew his hand quickly.  
"It's lovely. Thank you." Bertrand nodded sharply, taking an abrupt step towards the door.  
"The rest of the night is yours. Get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

* * *

The monster turned to leave, but Vlad's voice stopped him.  
"Bertrand… if you want to join me, whenever… that would be… I'd like that." He didn't reply, making straight for his Blood Cellar. Soon the boy would discover that he could get Fang!TV, which had taken to running near-constant news about the Dracula family since their son's apparent disappearance. He would have no time for the monster then, too busy longing for home.

Still, when he tapped on the door a few hours later, goblet of blood in hand, Vlad answered cheerfully.  
"It's your castle, you can come in." The moment the door was opened, he gestured towards an empty seat, and the monster lowered himself into it, a little shy in this new situation. The boy had indeed found Fang!TV, but he began talking over the broadcast, even turning the sound off so he could tell the monster all about his family. Didn't he know he was giving him ammunition, weapons that would make it laughably easy to take the Draculas down?

He had no intention of using that information to do so, however. The monster simply sat and listened as the boy spoke fondly of home, until the sun began to rise and Vlad began to yawn.

* * *

A few nights passed uneventfully, Bertrand working him hard before releasing him or inviting him to dine. The tutor wasn't nearly as unbearable as Vlad had expected; a little abrupt, perhaps, and prone to sudden bursts of anger, but almost… _considerate_. It seemed as though he didn't know how to be nice, but Vlad didn't think he was a bad person. Then he remembered the stories, the tales of the vampire clans wiped out for daring to cross Du Fortunesa, and he wondered how they could possibly be talking about the same vampire.

One night, Vlad woke early, before the sun could sink below the horizon. He suspected Bertrand wouldn't be awake yet, and he didn't want to go and get hooked on the television broadcasts before what he was sure would be another gruelling day of training. What better time, he reasoned, to explore the castle? Bertrand had said he could go anywhere, after all. Well, except for those two rooms; one, he'd since learnt, was where the older vampire slept, but the other remained a mystery. Still, there were plenty of other rooms to explore – there was no need to break his word to the other vampire.

Most of the other rooms, Vlad discovered, were empty and boring. It was as if Bertrand hadn't really bothered to make the place homely; he'd just filled it with the few things he required to be comfortable and gone on with his existence. There was a huge, dusty library, which Vlad thought he might ask about later, and a room he was already familiar with that was used for physical training, but apart from that there was no indication of what Bertrand might have done to amuse himself before Vlad's arrival.

He found himself, as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the horizon, standing outside the forbidden door once again. He remembered Bertrand's hand pausing inches from the handle, the way he'd moved on as if there was something he ought to do, but couldn't. He knew Bertrand probably thought him unobservant, but he wasn't _blind_. He hesitated, hand outstretched; he had about half an hour, judging by Bertrand's previous behaviour, before his tutor would be awake and expecting him to work. That was more than enough time to take a peek inside the room and get back to his coffin. Still, he hesitated… and then he reasoned that if Bertrand had really wanted to keep him out, he would have locked the door. He tried it; it swung open and before he could think better of it, he had stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

He didn't understand what was so different about this room; there was a small cabinet against the far wall, carved of a dark wood, and large trunks of a similar colour pushed up against the edges of the room. He lifted the nearest lid, curious, and found a collection of mementos from various events of the last four centuries. This, then, was where Bertrand stored his past.

In the very centre of the room, however, stood a large mahogany stand with an ancient-looking book resting on it. Vlad wondered if perhaps it was Bertrand's journal. Curious as he was, he had no intention of opening such a volume; Bertrand, like any other vampire on the planet, was entitled to his privacy and his secrets. He did, however, draw closer, curious to see if there was a title on the cover before he left the room. He reached out – and the skeletal hand holding the book shut jolted into life, pointing one bony finger accusingly at the young vampire. Then a bolt of lightning shot out and hit him, and Vlad stumbled backwards, yelling out in surprise and pain.

* * *

The monster dropped his razor; that was Vlad's voice. Why would he be yelling like that? The boy's unguarded mind provided the answer. He was in the room, the room with the Book and untold other dangerous objects. But why? Hadn't the monster warned him to leave it alone? What was he doing in that room in the first place?

The monster bolted across the hall, relieved that he had chosen a room so close by for himself.

* * *

The first Vlad knew of Bertrand's presence in the room was that strong arms were pulling him backwards, away from the book and out of the door.  
"Did you open the cabinet?" Vlad frowned, blinked, shook his head; the world was fuzzy.  
"No, the book zapped me, that's all – Bertrand, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"  
"No, you shouldn't have! I gave you free reign, I gave you everything I could, and you disobeyed me. One rule, Vladimir Dracula, and you broke it!" He dragged him along the corridor by his arm and threw him into his coffin room, producing a key Vlad wasn't aware he had. "Stay in there until you've come to your senses!"

Vlad tried to apologise, talking to the door with no idea if Bertrand was on the other side. He even tried using the walkie-talkie, but after a few minutes of stammered apologies he realised that Bertrand had jammed the talk button, effectively muting his prisoner. He'd messed things up, he knew, and Bertrand had every right to be angry with him.

He'd have felt bad, under any other circumstances, for waking the other vampire; the dusting of stubble on his face betrayed the fact that he hadn't even had time to shave before Vlad had brought him running, and Vlad had never seen Bertrand anything less than perfectly put-together. Today, though, his appearance had been wild; he'd run to defend the book, which seemed more than capable of defending itself, and now he was furious with him. The fact he'd been woken up was irrelevant; Vlad had betrayed his trust, just when he was beginning to think that this captivity thing might be bearable after all.

He lay in his coffin, crossed his arms over himself, and stared miserably at the ceiling until, hours later, he fell asleep.

* * *

The monster fumed; he had done his best to protect the Dracula child, going against every rule he'd ever made for himself, jeopardising his own job and his own safety – even his own unlife – and the ungrateful boy had gone against his orders anyway. Didn't he know he could have been killed? If he'd opened the cabinet at the back of the room instead of going for the Book… the monster didn't want to think about it.

This surprised him; he'd slain enough would-be Chosen Ones himself for being unable to activate the Book; why would he care if this foolish boy got his hands on the Crown and died for his folly? The monster should, in fact, have forced him to face the Book by now, to test his claim, but he'd decided to keep him for a little longer, if only as an extra voice around the place.

What he didn't understand was why the boy had been making so much noise in the first place. Had he wanted the monster to find him? He could have killed him, even if the dangerous artefacts in the room hadn't. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene he'd burst in on. He'd mostly been focused on manhandling Vlad back through the door, but now he thought about it, the Book had lifted one of its bony fingers and was pointing straight at the boy. His eyes flew open.

The Book had responded. Perhaps – no, the monster didn't dare to hope – Vlad couldn't be the true Chosen One. The monster didn't have that kind of luck; he didn't deserve it.

* * *

When Vlad woke up, there were a few bottles of soy blood on his bookcase. He took this as a sign that he was going to be locked in for a few days. Still, it could have been worse; he could have been left to starve. He sat bolt upright, a sudden realisation filling him with horror. If Du Fortunesa had come into his room while he was sleeping – and the bottles made it fairly clear that he had – he could just as easily have been staked. He was surprised he hadn't been - after all, wasn't that what Du Fortunesa was famous for, his ruthlessness?

He curled up against the door with a bottle of soy and tried to work out why he was still undead.

Two days later, he still hadn't worked it out, but he hoped that Du Fortunesa – _Bertrand_ – would have calmed down by now, enough to hear him out at least.  
_Bertrand? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have gone in there. Please don't hate me._ The walkie-talkie crackled into life from the floor by the bookcase.  
"Hate you?" He sounded confused again. No, not confused, that couldn't be right. "I don't…" Vlad grabbed the radio, depressing the talk button.  
"I wouldn't blame you. I was wrong, I'm sorry, but… can we talk? I still don't know what happened." There was no answer, just the sound of the key turning in the door. When Vlad opened it, he saw Bertrand already stalking away in the direction of the dining room and rushed to catch up.

"What was that book, what did it…?" They were sitting opposite one another, goblets of their different types of blood between them, and Bertrand looked as stern as ever. When he spoke, however, it was in the matter of fact tone of voice he used when they trained.  
"That was the Praedictum Impaver. As for _what did it_, you might have to tell me what happened in there." Vlad stared down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the knots in the wood.  
"I… I wasn't going to open it, I swear, I just… reached out to touch it and it zapped me. With its finger." Some of the tension Vlad hadn't noticed in his tutor's shoulders fell away.  
"You're the real… Well, you've passed the first test at any rate." Vlad looked up at him, surprised.  
"That's good, right?" Bertrand nodded, still frowning, and he decided to press his advantage. "So what is it? Why does it have a hand? And why does it only have four fingers? Well, three and a thumb."

Bertrand explained the legend of the Praedictum Impaver – that it had once been a powerful but insane vampire, and would confer even greater powers on the person it recognised as the Chosen One – but he didn't answer the question about the fingers. Perhaps he couldn't. Vlad didn't push it; he suspected his tutor didn't like having to admit that he didn't know things, or perhaps it was the not knowing itself that he resented. At any rate, he let the subject drop.  
"It's ten o'clock, do you want to train tonight?" The older vampire looked surprised, but nodded.

* * *

Bertrand froze for a second, the momentary hesitation enough to allow Vlad to finally get the upper hand. He'd never managed it before, and he felt a certain sense of triumph as he pinned his tutor to the floor. Did this count as defeating the legendary Du Fortunesa? The older vampire looked just as stunned as he felt, staring up at him, and Vlad almost apologised before standing and reaching out a hand to help the other man up. That, if anything, seemed to bewilder him more, but he accepted the help.

Vlad smiled at him, holding on a little longer than he really needed to. He'd never really touched his tutor before, outside of the context of throwing each other across rooms. He'd almost been expecting scales or some kind of toxin in his skin… but Bertrand's hand was rough, worn… somehow still softer than he'd expected. His tutor, for his part, stared stupidly down at the point of contact before abruptly pulling away and speaking gruffly.  
"Good. You're learning." Then he turned and swept from the room.

* * *

The monster stalked up to his own room and slammed the door behind him. He needed room to think. Sliding down against the door, he stared curiously at his own hand, wondering why it still felt as if it was tingling, as if it still had another cold, pale hand running over it.

It had been years since someone had reached out and touched him. He'd grabbed people, of course, and he'd thrown Vlad about a fair bit in training, but nobody had offered him a hand in kindness for… well, centuries.

It felt… good. The monster glanced up at the hourglass and turned his face away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part three of four - shorter and less dramatic than the others, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

Vlad was improving, slowly but surely; his telepathy was better, he'd never had any problems with hypnotism and had literally charmed a bird – an owl – out of a tree in order to prove that to Bertrand, and his combat skills were vastly better now than they had been. It had been months since the first time he'd pinned Bertrand, and he was sure that he had become a better fighter. Unfortunately, it was hard to tell; Bertrand was becoming more distracted with every passing night, it seemed, and lately he seemed so tired. He had taken to abruptly ending their sessions for no apparent reason, stalking off to disappear into his room.

"Bertrand?" The older vampire stopped in the doorway, looking back at him over his shoulder.  
"What is it?" Vlad shifted awkwardly, uncertain of his tutor's reaction to what he was about to ask.  
"Fang!TV are saying there's going to be a huge ball to celebrate the Grand High Vampire's coronation, when it happens." It was only a few months away, now, after all, and he was beginning to wonder about the future. "Would you… I mean, do you know how to dance? Could you… teach me?"

Bertrand stared at him for a moment.  
"Teach you… yes. That is my job, after all." He turned away, making his way towards the stairs. "Dinner at 6am, in the dining room." Vlad let him go, then headed for his own room. For this ball, he'd no doubt be expected to wear a cape… he should probably wear one for his dance lesson, then. And if he was going to wear a cape, he might as well go the whole hog and dress up to the nines. Well, if he could find anything suitable from the clothes he'd stuffed into his wardrobe…

* * *

The monster pulled out his best formal outfit, not worn since the last ball Charles had invited him to, in the 1670s. It still looked alright, he thought. It didn't matter, anyway; he wasn't trying to impress anyone. It just seemed appropriate to wear something formal in order to demonstrate formal dancing to his student.

He was fortunate, really, that the vampire world didn't waver from its traditions; the dancing would be the same at Vlad's ball as it had been at the coronation of every Grand High Vampire before him. Most of it didn't even require a partner, as the dances were more to do with a number of dancers skilfully weaving in between one another in time to music, creating a pleasing effect and allowing as many vampires as possible to meet and mingle. There might be some waltzing, but he could teach Vlad that easily enough. He would have to teach him to lead, which meant the monster would be taking the lady's part, but that was quite easy to do; he had taught young men to dance before, after all, long ago.

The monster swept a critical eye over the outfit and sighed; it would do. He began to change.

* * *

Vlad stepped out into the corridor between his room and Bertrand's just as his tutor emerged from his door on the other side of the hallway. Vlad hesitated for a moment, taking in Du Fortunesa's formal attire; he was glad he'd dressed up. Bertrand stared back at him, and Vlad wondered if he looked like an idiot. But that didn't seem to be the other vampire's point. He was just looking; assessing him, no doubt.

Vlad supposed he should practice escorting a partner onto the dance floor; no time like the present. He made his way along the hall until he was level with Bertrand, then bowed formally and offered his arm. Bertrand looked a little taken aback, but bowed back and, somewhat hesitantly, looped his arm through his student's.

They shared a drink as usual, but something seemed subtly different tonight. Bertrand kept his eyes on his goblet until Vlad engaged him in conversation, mostly about the dances he would have to know. To his tutor's obvious surprise, he was already familiar with several of the larger dances.  
"It's the partner ones I'm really worried about," he confided, and watched Bertrand take a long gulp of blood.  
"Then let's begin with those."

This time, when Vlad offered his arm, Bertrand took it without questioning, and allowed himself to be led into the large room with a gramophone in it. Vlad was rather pleased with himself, actually, for remembering where it was. It was the work of moments for Bertrand to get it running.  
"Get a feel for the music," he advised, and then they stood, awkwardly, on opposite sides of the room, for several minutes. In the end, Vlad stepped forward.

"I think I've got a feel for it." He held out his hand once more. "May I have this dance?" Bertrand carefully placed his hand in his student's, then rested his other on Vlad's shoulder and waited, as if to see whether Vlad had the faintest clue what he was doing.

* * *

Vlad's remaining hand found its way hesitantly to the monster's waist, and he wondered briefly what he was doing. He ran through the steps as briefly as he could, wanting only to get it over with so they could move on to brushing up the less contact-intensive dances. He shouldn't be this close to the Chosen One – if he was the real Chosen One, which of course he couldn't be, no matter what the Book did – he should be alone, a hideous monster in a dark, cold castle.

* * *

Vlad thought he was getting the hang of it; Bertrand had stopped giving him instructions and was simply watching his footwork carefully as they moved across the room. Something about dancing with him made Vlad feel a little strange – like there were bats breeding in his stomach. He supposed it was the bizarre notion that he was dancing with Du Fortunesa, the villain from every little vampire's bedtime stories. That was all it was… and then Bertrand looked up.

Bright blue eyes stared into dark blue, barely a few inches apart, and for a moment Vlad thought he'd got too close to the book upstairs again as a shock ran through him. Bertrand faltered, then stepped back, and he knew the tutor had noticed his jolt of surprise. He made him a courteous bow and excused himself with no further explanation, leaving Vlad to turn off the gramophone.

He settled into his coffin with a discontented sigh. He'd enjoyed dancing with Bertrand; too much, he now realised, enough to scare the other vampire away. He hadn't realised until recently, but he'd become somewhat fond of his tutor – and he knew any of the counsellors from Garside would have told him that was Stockholm Syndrome, but he was barely a prisoner here anymore. He wasn't even sure that Bertrand would come after him if he disappeared; his family were probably safe. He could take off any time he wanted, but he stayed.

He stayed because he enjoyed Bertrand's company, strange and stilted though their conversations were. He didn't want to read any further into it than that.

* * *

The monster lay in his shroud and glared up at the ceiling. How dare he even look at the Dracula who could be – but wasn't, almost certainly wasn't – the Chosen One like that? As if he was worthy of meeting his eye? It was preposterous, and looking at him with affection, fondness, maybe even desire – that was unthinkable. He had barely made it out of the room before his face twisted into a snarl. He could not fall for Vladimir Dracula.

The monster feared he already had.


	4. Chapter 4

**The final part! It feels kind of super long, but whatever, that's how I divided it up. I hope you enjoy it!**

Vlad had spectacularly failed to get off to sleep, despite his best efforts. After a few hours, he gave up and crept into the room with the TV, just to see if they'd stopped talking about his family yet. He switched on Fang!TV and froze, staring at the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen as the newsreader's voice filled his ears.

"The Dracula family had been in hiding for the last few years, ostensibly to protect their son Vladimir from reprisals as he is rumoured to be the fabled Chosen One. As previously reported here on Fang!TV news, Vladimir disappeared some months ago, but it's only now that the Council have closed in on the Draculas, suspecting foul play. Did Count Dracula slay his own son to stop him from taking power? It seems entirely likely at this point. The Council-"

He didn't hear the rest, too busy banging on Bertrand's door. The older vampire's irritated expression barely even registered with his student.  
"Bertrand, it's my family, the Council think they've killed me, they're going to be charged with treason…" He collapsed into Bertrand's arms, shaking, and hoped his tutor could tell him what to do.

* * *

The monster wrapped his arms slowly around his student, processing what he had just heard.  
"This is my fault. If I'd told the Council you were with me…" He hadn't, though; he'd known they would want him to test the boy's claim straight away, and the monster had been trying to buy some time before he risked Vlad's unlife. It suddenly occurred to him what he had to do.

"You should go home. Show them you're fine, tell them where you were. Save your family." Vlad stepped back, looking up at him in total confusion.

* * *

"You're letting me go?" His tutor's face darkened.  
"Yes, I'm letting you go! You're free. You never have to see me again. Now get _out_!" Vlad almost hugged him again, wanting to say goodbye, wanting to say so many things, but the furious expression on his tutor's face stopped him. Instead he turned and ran, heading straight for the unglazed window at the end of the corridor. Before he'd reached it, he heard Du Fortunesa's door slam – and then he was soaring out into the night, speeding towards home. He was glad he'd still been wearing his cape, with hindsight, because he hadn't really thought about it before he made that leap.

He landed at Garside to find Wolfie standing in the courtyard, yelling at the vampires outside to go away. Ingrid was standing helplessly in the doorway, glaring at the assembled Councillors, heavies and press, but unable to make a grab for Wolfie or even call for him to come inside, in case the vampires followed. The Count was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Vlad feared the worst as he touched down beside his little half-brother.  
"Wolfie, go inside with Ingrid." Then he rounded on the Councillors, trying to sound more imposing than he felt. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

They stared at him dumbly, until one – Augustus, if Vlad remembered correctly – found his voice.  
"We… thought they'd slain you."  
"Yes, well, rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated." He'd always wanted to say that. "I've been training, with Du Fortunesa. You've heard of him, of course." He enjoyed the way they shrank back at the mention of the name; he would have to tell Bertrand about it some time. If he ever saw him again, of course, which it didn't seem his tutor particularly wanted to happen. "So don't _think_ of harming my family."

"Du Fortunesa? But he would have told us." Vlad glanced back over his shoulder as the Councillors began to babble, relieved to see that his father had joined Ingrid and Wolfie in the doorway. He turned his back on the mob and went to check that his family were alright.  
"He must have gone rogue."  
"He's dangerous, especially if he took the Chosen One without telling us."  
"Has he tested him? He must have done. Du Fortunesa would never let a pretender walk away." Vlad turned away from his father's praise just in time to hear Augustus' firm declaration.  
"We'll have to deal with him." And with that, the Council vanished.

Vlad tried to follow them, but the reporters from Fang!TV, as well as a ridiculous number of other networks, crushed in to ask him questions. Eventually he was forced to retreat inside the school, the reporters taking off only as the sun began to rise. Of course, that left Vlad trapped, pacing the darkened corridors of a place he could barely remember calling home anymore.

"Vladdy, you escaped, that's the important thing! The Council will deal with the scoundrel." The Count seemed to have forgiven the threat on his household already. Vlad barely resisted snarling at him – where had he picked up that habit? – as he answered.  
"I didn't escape. He let me go, he let me come home to save you." The Count frowned.  
"You can't seriously be thinking of going back? He can't force you to, not now the Council are against him-"  
"He told me to get out, he set me free. But if I fly the moment the sun sets, maybe I can still beat the Council. He saved my life, Dad, I owe him."  
"You don't owe anybody anything, you're the Chosen One-"  
"Yes, and I need Bertrand's help." The Count stared at him for a long moment.  
"Who on earth is Bertrand?"

* * *

The monster paced his coffin room, cursing himself, the Council, even the Draculas, under his breath. He glared at the hourglass; there was hardly any ash left to fall and the majority of it, in the bottom half of the glass, was beginning to congeal, solidifying into the form of a bony finger. Soon, he knew, the last of the ash would fall to complete it, and time would have run out.

He crossed the corridor to the other room, where the Book rested innocently on its stand. Only two types of people could open the Book; the Chosen One, who would be able to access its full secrets, and the Guardian, for whom the skeletal hand reached in and plucked out a single page. He took it from between the bony fingers with a sigh. He knew what it said. He read it again anyway.

_The Guardian is hereby charged with the Praedictum Impaver and the Crown of Power until such time as the Chosen One is ready to claim them. He shall destroy all pretenders, and he shall seek the true and rightful wearer of the Crown. He shall know him by this Book's response, and by his great deeds. The Crown of Power will tolerate no imposter; if the Guardian does not destroy such a one, it will do so itself._

_But the Guardian's path passes through a dark forest lit by the day; he must find the Chosen One before the Glass of Ash has run its course, or he will crumble and become as the creator of this book; nothing but a timepiece for a new Guardian. Only by kneeling before the Chosen One as he wears the Crown may he escape this fate._

_Guardian, you will suffer many disappointments. I have suffered too many and leave my very self to your cause. May you fare better, or deserve your destiny. Sethius._

The monster placed the page back on top of the Book, frowning when the skeletal hand made no move to take it back. The Book was old, now; perhaps it had given up, too. Soon – the monster shuddered to think of it – soon, the skeletal hand would be replaced by his own bones, the hourglass in his coffin room filled with his own ash, and the cycle would begin again. He felt a stab of pity for the Dracula boy; if the Book had recognised him, it seemed likely that he was the next Guardian, doomed to endure the miserable existence the monster had carved out for four hundred years.

He crossed back to his own room as the sun began to sink, wondering if Vlad had made it in time to save his family. He closed his eyes; there was no point fighting the inevitable any more. The monster sat and waited to crumble into dust.

* * *

As night fell, Vlad barrelled through the door onto the balcony – why hadn't he thought of that last night? It could have made all the difference – and launched himself into the air, heading straight for Castle Du Fortunesa. He hoped he could get there before the Council did, in time to save Bertrand from the stake he was sure they were sharpening for him. He didn't like his chances.

As he soared over the castle walls, however, he spotted a ring of black vans and realised that they still had a chance. The Council couldn't enter the castle uninvited, so it seemed they'd enlisted the help of the Slayers' Guild, presumably through some discreet intermediary. A tip-off to the nearest peasants would probably have been enough to set this all-out assault in motion, now he thought about it. But they hadn't got in yet, and that meant there was hope.

"Bertrand!" He slammed open every door in the castle, searching desperately. Perhaps he had already fled? It would be the sensible thing to do. He hesitated before flinging open the door to the forbidden room, the one containing that strange old Book. There was a sheet of paper resting on top of it; Vlad almost laughed in his relief. Bertrand had escaped, then, and had left a note. He leant in to read it, and his stomach lurched. "Bertrand!"

He ran across the corridor and burst into his tutor's room, the only place in the castle where he'd never set foot before. His tutor was slumped against a wall, staring at the hourglass on the table. Vlad spared it a glance; there appeared to be a skeletal finger at the bottom of it, and precious few flakes of ash in the top. He turned back to Bertrand.  
"You've got to get up, we have to go, slayers are coming." Bertrand was shaking, he realised, as he pulled him to his feet, slipping an arm around his shoulders as the older vampire stumbled.  
"The Council realised I betrayed them, then?"  
"They think you kidnapped me. Why didn't you tell them you had me?" Bertrand reached out and grabbed the hourglass – it swung wildly from side to side, but to Vlad's horror, the ash didn't stop trickling towards the finger, defying gravity to do it.  
"I would have had to test you. I didn't want- the Crown is dangerous." They'd made it into the corridor, but Bertrand was struggling to stay upright and Vlad couldn't carry him all the way home. It seemed his tutor was reaching the same conclusion. "You need to get out. Save yourself, I'm dust either way."

* * *

The monster could feel his strength ebbing away, but the young vampire was shaking his head.  
"No. There's a way to save you, there has to be… I saw the Book." The monster winced.  
"How far did you read?"  
"…_or he will crumble._ Bertrand, why didn't you tell me you were cursed?"  
"Why would it matter?" Vlad snarled.  
"Idiot! You must know how I feel about you by now." The older vampire cringed; he knew all too well.  
"I'm a monster." Suddenly he was being lowered to the floor, pitching forwards onto his hands and knees. Craning his neck, he caught sight of Vlad's determined face as his vision began to blur.  
"You're not a monster."

* * *

Bertrand had slipped into unconsciousness and Vlad knew he was running out of time. There had to be some way of proving he was the Chosen One, that Bertrand had found him – _the Crown_. He raced into the forbidden room and threw open the cabinet.

The Crown was made of bones; Vlad grimaced – _predictable_ – but he didn't even hesitate before picking it up – _will tolerate no imposter_ – and jamming it on his head, rushing back outside.  
"Bertrand! Look, it's alright, it hasn't killed m-" A surge of power coursed through him, white hot, and he wondered if the Crown was destroying him after all. Well, let it, if he couldn't save Bertrand.

But no – he felt stronger than ever – an experimental flex of his powers surrounded the castle with a huge ring of fire, and outside he could hear the slayers revving their engines and fleeing. Still Bertrand didn't move, and Vlad sank down beside him.

"Bertrand, please." It was little more than a broken whisper… and then he noticed the hourglass. It was too late. He'd failed. He gathered Bertrand's body into his arms, strength suddenly failing him as he only succeeded in bringing the body to its knees, wrapping his arms around the man, pressing the tutor's head against his own chest. He wondered how long it would take him to crumble to ash.

He didn't notice the last tiny flake of ash drifting down from where it had been stuck to the very top of the glass.

* * *

The monster stirred, disorientated. He was kneeling, and someone was dropping cold water into his hair, holding him tightly in place. He struggled - he would not be held, he would not be trapped! – and then a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Bertrand?" It was Vlad, Vlad was the one clutching him to his chest. Vlad was there, and the monster… the monster had survived.

* * *

Bertrand blinked a few times to clear his vision as Vlad finally realised how tight he was holding and let go, frantically wiping away his tears.  
"How are you not dust?" He glanced from tutor to hourglass and back again, but it didn't make any sense. "I mean, not that I'm not glad. I just don't understand."  
"You're wearing the Crown." Bertrand's voice was wobbly, and croakier than he'd like, but Vlad was so relieved to hear it that he barely noticed. "And I'm kneeling."  
"That's all it took?" Bertrand nodded. "I could have saved you months ago."  
"Why would you?" He frowned, and his tutor continued. "I'm a monster."

* * *

"You're not a monster, Bertrand." Vlad told him, "I love you."

Then there were cold lips pressed timidly against his own, and he was kissing back, and the world was spinning but Bertrand didn't care.  
"I love you," Vlad murmured between kisses, as if he was having trouble believing it himself, "I love you." Then Bertrand was murmuring in response.  
"I love you too," he'd never said the words before, never even considered them, but he knew they were true, "I love you." He pulled back, suddenly afraid. Vlad pouted.  
"What's wrong?"  
"…I'm not a monster?" His student relaxed, running a hand through Bertrand's curls as he repeated himself firmly.  
"You're not a monster. And I love you." He kissed him again, and Bertrand believed him.

**~THE END~**


End file.
